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It’s like losing one of my lungs, she once told me. I don’t think I’ll ever breathe right again.
He’s cute, but he’s nowhere near cute enough to be this big of an ass.
I don’t know if I’m angry or maybe flirting a little
me too
but it smells like a secret.
I roll my eyes. “People believe all kinds of things.” He gives a small smile. “It’s the most beautiful thing about humanity, isn’t it?” “I don’t know,” I admit.
It’s damn hard to fall apart when you’re busy being steady for somebody else.
“I’m fine,” I say. I learned after Phoebe that if you say it enough, people believe you. Say it even more, and you’ll believe it yourself.
Maybe I lost the colors when Phoebe breathed her last.
My dad always says if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck—it’s probably a duck.
numbness is a gift. It keeps us moving and helps us to survive the things that feel unsurvivable.
Losing Phoebe taught me that when your world falls to pieces, your brain will not keep you moving. Your brain will shut down to a low static hum. Your heart will tear itself in half and ache until you’re sure you’ll die. Until some part of you wishes you could. It’s your instincts that will keep you alive.
“Because sometimes it is easier to force strength for others than to allow ourselves to feel weak and hurt.”
“I think that’s what grief does. It reminds
